


Chasing Cars

by j_obsessed



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Angst and Feels, Introspection, M/M, Memories, Nostalgia, Pining, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:13:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28979430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_obsessed/pseuds/j_obsessed
Summary: <3
Relationships: Jos Buttler/Joe Root
Comments: 60
Kudos: 18





	1. Passenger.

Joe can’t do it anymore. He’s over it. This must be, the third time he’s done this, but what the fuck else is he supposed to do because he just _wants,_ and his heart hurts because he can’t _have._ He puts his car in park and rests his head against the steering wheel as he swallows harshly.

Who knew how bad this was going to _hurt._ He didn’t want them to burn out like this. But it happened. Because they dropped him. And Joe lost his everything because of it. He was forced to learn a lesson that he should’ve learnt a long time ago.

Focus more on your team. Focus on who you’re with. Focus on the results, yes, but more importantly, cherish the friendships and relationships you have with your teammates. Because one day they could be ripped from you, and you’ll miss something that you took for granted.

The universe clearly hates him, because just as he reaches over to the passenger seat for his phone, he manages to brush the centre console, and the radio turns on, and if there’s ever a sign Joe needed that everything is wrong, this would be it.

_Because I still fucking love you, babe._

Joe slams his hand down on the controls, hoping that a harsh enough hit will just make it _stop._

But it doesn’t.

He still remembers what Jos had said to him.

_We knew this was going to happen Joe. I haven’t proved myself enough to keep my spot. But you have, and I’m so proud of you. We can’t make this feel right, we can’t pretend that you’ll be able to call me and I’ll be able to push down the jealousy because you’ll be doing what we love. I can’t be here waiting for you to come home, I'll drive myself crazy._

_I want you to move on. I love you enough to let you go. I wouldn’t ask you to wait for me, because I know how that would end, and I’d never forgive myself for making you despise me. Don’t cry my love, please, I know you’re stronger than this, and you’ll be okay, even when I’m gone._

But here he is, sitting in his car alone at one in the morning, without Jos. Joe very clearly isn’t okay. And he hates it. Because it’s been long enough that he should be over it. Jos has been gone for a long time, but it still hurts. Because everything was so much better when he was still around.

He hates it. But he hates thinking about it even more. They went from lovers, from best friends, from boyfriends, from “we’ll be married one day”, to “we don’t talk anymore” and to acquaintances, to people who greet each other with a nod rather than a kiss, and to “we can’t share a room anymore because I can’t touch him and it’s killing me.”

Everything has a memory attached to it. It was painful enough before, when it was still new. When there were clothes and watches and toothbrushes and bats that didn’t belong to him, lying around his house. It was bad then. Back when Jos’ scent of spearmint and sandalwood was the only thing that could send him to sleep. But it was worse, so much fucking worse when the smell began to ever so slowly fade from the bedsheets.

Joe tries not to dwell on the point, but he finds himself going quiet at the memory. Because an empty bed, a lack of warmth beside him or behind his back, the missing weight of Jos’ arm over his waist, absence of bruised hands that run over his spine in the mornings- _hurts._

He digs his nails into the steering wheel in agony. He’s not escaping his head tonight, so he may as well just, get through it.

Because waking up alone, every morning, after waking up next to Jos for as long as he could remember is quite possibly the worst thing in the world.

Missing the tired bedroom smile Jos would give him after a long night is a close second.

Or maybe it’s the playful grin he’d get from the keeper as Jos would tackle him into the bed after a win, undressing each other messily, clothes strewn across the sofa and all over the living room floor in their haste.

Joe wonders how he got here and why he’s sitting alone in his car, utterly and completely heartbroken in his own driveway. He doesn’t need to think too hard about it, because it’s happened before. Because for some reason, driving home after every match he has, kills him.

Because there was nothing _home_ about home anymore.

There are no sachets of coffee in his cupboards. He doesn’t even drink coffee, but that’s just the fucking problem isn’t it. It’s always silent, too quiet without him, no running water in the bathroom at ridiculous hours of the night because Jos would always stay up to wait for him, and no Spotify playing disgustingly sweet love songs that Joe always complained about.

What he’d fucking give to have any of that now. To hear Jos humming to some old ballad while he padded around on the timber floor to make him Yorkshire tea every morning, bringing it to him with a kiss on his head.

He hates going home to an empty house. He’d rather sit here, in his car, than go inside and sleep in a bed that doesn’t smell enough like Jos to trick his brain into thinking that he’s happy and safe and _okay._

Joe has accidentally driven past his own place, halfway onto the deserted M62 at witch hours too many times to count, because unlike his GPS that’s got home set to Yorkshire, Joe’s heart has home set to _Jos._

_But I still fucking love you, babe._

Joe kills the ignition in anger.

_Yeah. I do._

He tucks his head into his arms over the steering wheel and closes his eyes. His phone beeps twice, but he’s too tired to think about it. He fumbles for the controls at the side of his seat, tipping it back and laying his head on the headrest. He looks up through the sunroof and is hit with another wave of nostalgia, and god, this one’s even worse.

_“Hey.” Jos pokes his nose gently from his reclined position in the driver’s seat._

_“Hi?” Joe gives him a sleepy smile, all too acceptable since Jos has decided to drag him out to the middle of nowhere at three in the morning._

_“Joey?”_

_“Yes, hm, what is it?”_

_“You’re so beautiful.”_

_“You’re concussed.”_

_“Definitely not. But even if I was, I’d wake up tomorrow, and I’d still think you’re beautiful. Always will.”_

_“Jos-”_

_“Shh. Just, look up.”_

_Joe looks up through the sunroof, but he can’t keep himself from turning his head back to Jos because “the stars look like your eyes.”_

_Jos only laughs and leans over the centre console to kiss him softly. “Well, my love, what do the stars say?”_

_“That you love me.”_

_“I do,” he smiles, and Joe can’t bring himself to do anything but kiss Jos._

He chokes down a sob, and turns slightly, curling into himself and falling asleep in the driver’s seat of his car. 


	2. Driver.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> <3

Jos has always had this horrific quality, of empathy. 

If he had any say in it, he’d have it cut out of him without hesitation. Like a dead rose, cut straight through the centre, so it doesn't poison everything else.

Because dear fucking god, how it hurts.

It’s some awful hour in the morning, the sky’s dark and the clouds are crashing against each other, and it's absolutely pouring down, and there are crashes of lightning that are blocked out by the curtains. It just sounds like utter devastation outside, yet that’s not what’s woken him up.

There’s a sharp pain that’s settled above his abdomen, just slightly toward the left.

His throat’s run dry, and it feels like his stomach’s just dropped through his feet.

Half of him is hurting, but it’s not his pain to handle. He hates it, and he hates it even more because he knows why he’s feeling it. Because he thought he was over this. He really, really did.

Over the soft smile that would be hidden behind hands that are only just smaller than his. Secret smiles that were different, just for him, and not for some Instagram platform. Countless empty mugs left in the bedroom that’d leave it smelling like Yorkshire tea. Short hair that he could tug roughly to tease, and use to bring chapped lips into the most toe-curling kisses.

But he’s not.

He thought he was over the feeling of having someone standing at the balcony of his every innings, cheering him on and screaming their heart out. Going without it wouldn’t be so bad. She wouldn’t be coming to the games anyway. And Jos doesn’t want her to. Because she couldn’t do it the way he does. Maybe the empty locker next to his in the changeroom wouldn’t sting so bad, and he’d be okay if someone else came and put their stuff there.

But he’s not.

He thought, that he’d be able to keep that ring on his finger and look at it every fucking day and not regret the fact that Joe wasn’t the one that put it there.

But he can’t, and it’s killing him.

His phone buzzes, and the home screen flashes and that does for Jos.

He’s fucking sick of it.

It used to be Joe and him, feet together in the sand, just in case someone asked, and he could say that it’s him and a friend, him and his sister, not his teammate that he’d give everything up for. It used to be Joe and him, holding onto each other after pulling their team through to that final. It used to be Joe and him, jerseys 66 and 63 beside each other, their fronts concealed where they’d have their pinky fingers linked and only they’d know.

Now it’s a generic iPhone background. No life, no personality, no home. Just a screen.

Jos stares up at the ceiling and all of a sudden he has to get out of bed. Because the stuck on glowlights of the stars, right above his head make him feel sick to his stomach.

_“Jos hurry up!”_

_“Where are you taking me, Joey-”_

_“Just follow me!”_

_“Baby, I think you’ve forgotten that I can’t actually see anything?”_

_“Shit. Sorry. Wait.” There’s a short moment where he’s left directionless until Joe’s hand slips into his, and he relaxes. “Better?”_

_“So much better.”_

_“Good. Okay, open them.”_

_“Darling, I love you, but why are we at the kid's section of an IKEA?”_

_“Remember how you took me to see the stars?”_

_“Last night?” Jos asks. Joe looks awfully confused at that. “When I had you rolling your eyes back into your head while-”_

_“JOSepH ButTLEr! THIS IS AN FAMILY STORE, AND THERE ARE CHILDREN PRESENT!” Joe hisses._

_“Sorry darling, of course…” he grins, and bursts into sheepish laughter as Joe flushes red._

_“I meant last week.”_

_“Of course, I remember sweetheart." How could I forget? How the silver lights reflected off your eyes. How your smile got even brighter when I finally told you._

_“We can put stars over our bed. So you can look at them and remember me when I’m not there.”_

Yeah. Mission accomplished Joe. Jos breathes harshly, and angrily shoves his way out of the bedroom.

He hasn’t been back to this house in so long. But he’s got a game here, in Lancashire tomorrow, and there was no other option. He couldn’t drive the four hours from London. Not that he wanted to be there anyway.

The living room isn’t any better. Because everywhere he looks, all he can see are places Joe used to be. He hates that Joe used to be in reach. And now he can’t even see him, much less hold him or hug him or tug him into his arms, like he did so many times by that window, or on that sofa, or against that kitchen counter.

_“Do you wanna grow old with me Jos?”_

_“You’re asking me this, at the ripe age of 24, standing in the kitchen at 11 am on a Sunday morning, darling? Really?”_

_The look in Joe’s eyes tells him that his boyfriend isn’t kidding. They’re wide open, raw and trusting and Jos picks him up, places him on the counter and places his hands gently on Joe’s jaw._

_“There’s nothing I’d rather do. I’ll take you somewhere beautiful, and I’ll marry you under the stars, and we’ll move to Australia, and I won’t let you go.”_

_“It- it was a yes or no question Jossy,” Joe replies, voice thick and eyes glassy._

_“Deserved more than that, my love.”_

Jos wonders why he keeps doing this to himself. Why he willingly lets these memories take up space in his heart, and why he can’t just let them _go._ But they’ve been there for so long, and if they ever left, Jos thinks he’d probably lose himself.

Every corner of the house mocks him, and Jos wants nothing more than to throw a vase through the window because it seems like the only way he’ll be able to breathe.

But he’d never do that. Because if he did, he’d end up with glass shards everywhere. And although it feels like there’s one through his heart, he doesn’t need any through his skin. He wonders why he’s so averse to a bit of breakage, but then he remembers and forces himself to forget.

Because Joe always brought the flowers that used to sit in that vase. (And no matter how much it hurts to see the vase empty, Jos would rather it empty than non-existent. He’d rather have a memory than nothing.)

Because Joe’s the one with a first-aid qualification. (And he knows where the kit is, and what to use and how to do everything perfectly, without causing so much as a wince from him, because Joe is what holds him together.)

Because while Jos was always sure that Joe would be okay without him, he can't be okay without Joe. 

But Joe isn’t here, and Jos is by himself, and he won’t be able to stitch himself back together, in the event that he’s torn open. 

He can’t even risk a flesh wound. 

Jos pulls the band off his finger and throws it somewhere, not bothering to listen for the sound. He grabs his keys and tears out of the front door, slamming it far too vigorously for four in the morning. 

_"The bleeding's internal. That's where it's supposed to be."_

_"Shut up Jos, and let me fix you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a good cry writing this x  
> Enjoy


	3. Home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the universe said it's okay,   
> it's okay if we try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possibly the most emotionally taxing work i've ever written comes to a close   
> thank you so much, to all of you who read and commented and shared what you loved and hated about this <3 i hope this is everything you wanted <3

They spend months like this. In this sort of limbo, too close or too far, not close enough or not far enough.

Joe can’t bring himself to look Jos in the eye.

Jos can’t bring himself to put his ring back on. After a while, he doesn’t even have a reason to. Jase helps him through it.

There are days where they’re better. Days, when everything clicks into place, as it did back in 2016, back when they weren’t dating but weren’t just friends. When Joe can look at Jos’ smile and not have to leave the room and call Ali on the verge of… well, agony. Where Jos can catch a glimpse of Joe’s sparkling eyes and not fight back tears, not have to go fight Ben tooth and nail in their boxing ring to let himself let everything go.

But there are days when it’s bad. When someone says something a little too close to home. Or when someone makes a joke that’s not _really_ a joke. Times where Joe needs to go and sit by the window and draw until his hands hurt, ripping pages out in heartbreak, when all he ends up drawing are eyes that he can't look into anymore. Days that force Jos into his room for hours, coming out only to retrieve dinner that Ben’s left at his door. Hours and hours spent shadow batting alone in front of his mirror, trying to keep his mind from straying to _I wonder what Joe is doing, I wonder if he’s thinking about me I wonder if-_

Ben’s a lifesaver, he really really is. Jos thinks, if he didn’t have Ben, or Jase, or Jof, or Morgs, he’d have run himself into the ground. Granted, they all want to hit him with a shoe, but they don’t, because they’re understanding. And because they get it.

They get to a stage where they can sit side by side, without digging fingers into the flesh of their thighs and palms. To a point where they can almost make fifteen seconds of eye contact without needing to run outside and run _away._

It’s going okay, and Joe thinks that maybe they could get back to being genuine friends. Maybe their failed trials won’t haunt them forever. But then, there’s the inevitable moment that fucks it all up.

**_ 04:00 England Cricket has uploaded a video: Buttler’s Back.  _ **

**Ben 04:32**

_Jos is back_

**Ali 04:34**

_Are you okay?_

**Chris 04:37**

_Joey. Is everything okay? Do you need me to come over?_

He watches the video, even though he knows he shouldn’t. 

-

Joe takes a deep breath, readjusting the strap of the kit on his shoulder, fidgeting uncontrollably as he convinces himself to walk calmly in and out of the dressing room, and not turn around and absolutely hightail it out of there. Amidst the barrage of thoughts he has going on upstairs, he makes out a faint few voices. 

_Jos. You can’t just give the opportunity up because he’s here. You’ve waited years for this._

_Ben, you don’t- it’s not like that. Obviously, we’re not- We can’t even- Ben. I didn’t have a choice-_

_You did have a choice, and, no listen to me Jos, you need to hear this, you made the right one. Saved both you and him so much heartache. No one blames you for it-_

_Then why does it still fucking hurt so bad? I hate-_ when Jos’ voice breaks like that, dear god, Joe has to look upwards to stop himself from falling apart right there. _I hate seeing him happy because he’s happy without me._

_Are you happy without him?_

_Ben. Please. Stop-_

_Do you still love-_

_No._

The word hits Joe like a punch straight to the gut, and he almost doubles over with the force of it.

“Bye Joey! See you tomorrow, for training? As usual? We’re on at nine, right?” Jonny says, rather loudly as he catches up with his fellow Yorkie.

Joe’s eyes widen and he immediately looks around for an escape. Jonny looks extremely baffled, and only when he hears an “oh _fuck,”_ from Ben, and a much quieter _“shit”_ from Jos, does he understand what’s just happened.

Ben sighs aggressively, takes Jonny by the hand and leaves Joe and Jos alone in the changeroom, standing only six feet apart. It’s the closest they’ve been in _months._

“How- uh, how was training?” Jos asks as he turns around to start packing his kit, refusing to continue facing his ex- his… _fuck._ It’s forced, and overly enthusiastic but also undeniably an attempt to _divert, change the subject, cower away,_ and it’s oh so fake and Joe hates it.

“Uh. Yeah, fine. Good to be back and all.” The batsman fidgets with his fingers, rocking back and forth on his feet, struggling to stay still, struggling to keep his throat from closing in on itself. 

“Okay then! Wonderful! See you tomorrow! Okay, uh, bye.”

There’s a moment. Or at least, Joe thinks there is, before Jos nods delicately at him, and turns away to open the door. Joe hates everything about this.

Everything.

Because he at least needs closure. If it’s over then he needs to have Jos say it right to his face. Tell him honestly and openly, eye-to-eye. It’ll kill him, but he’d rather that, than die wondering.

“Jos?”

“Um. Yes?” The keeper doesn’t turn to face him. He _knows._

“D-did you mean that?”

Every muscle in Jos’ back tenses up, and it takes everything in Joe’s body not to caress his hand down the expanse of it. He’s gotten rather good at telling himself _no._

“Joe I really don’t think we should-”

“Jos. Just- did you?”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now. We were fine. Everything was going okay. Why do you need to fucking question it?”

“Because I am sick of seeing your fake smile and I’m sick of hearing your fake laugh and I’m so sick and so tired of you lying to me.” The words _hurt._ Joe can see it on him. Jos still hasn’t turned to face him. “So you better fucking turn around, look me in the eyes, and tell me, did you mean it?”

The keeper turns around, and the pain on his face is undeniably obvious. It’s only visible on his face for a minute, which Joe is extremely thankful for, because any longer, and he’d have regretted the words.

“Yes,” Jos says with a lot less resolve than he means. “Yes, I meant it.”

“You don’t love me?” Joe asks, and the keeper flinches uncomfortably, cringing at the words, eyes still boring into the ground.

“No. I don’t.”

“You don’t think about me, you don’t remember me every time James Arthur comes on the radio?”

“No. I don’t. Are we done here?”

“No. We’re not. You don’t smell strawberries and think of me? You don’t look outside when it fucking pours down in Manchester and wish I was there to-”

“I- _no._ I don’t. I told you, no.”

 _"Then say it, Jos.”_ Joe refuses to let this be a moment that is _lost._ He’s already lost enough with Jos. Lost him from the test squad. Lost him due to his own misunderstandings. Lost him because someone else got to him first. Joe’s _done_ losing him. Because it’s so goddamn obvious that they’re _not_ done. He just needs to hear it.

“I don’t…” Jos tries, only this time, his voice breaks slightly. He’s still avoiding Joe’s eyes because if he looks into them, he’s so beyond fucked. He’s never been able to lie to Joe and looking into his eyes makes it even worse. He feels transparent, and he hates it.

“Say. It.” Joe demands. “Look at me and say it. All of it.”

“I-” Jos can’t even go through with his argument, because Joe’s stepped into his space, and leant in halfway, hands bracing his face, not even a breath away from kissing him.

They stare at each other for way longer than ‘exes who don’t love each other’ should. Jos, for all his aversion before, now can’t take his eyes away from Joe. From all the little pieces of Joe that used to be his- but aren’t anymore. The column of his throat, the angle of his jaw, the arch of his lips and the slight protrusion of collarbone that’s teasing him from the collar of Joe’s shirt. Jos goes silent, before swallowing thickly. It _hurts._

Then Joe steps back, and Jos’ voice breaks. _“Why._ Joe why would you do that, I didn’t- you can’t just-”

“Because you’re lying to me Jos.”

“And how could you possibly know that? You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“But I do. I always do. Did you think I’d forgotten everything about you Jos?”

The keeper swallows thickly and contracts all the muscles in his chest in reflex. 

“I know you. I still know you. I know that you have to shake your shoulder before the shot because your muscles cramp up if you haven’t had them massaged. I know that you can’t leave the house without the rose petal in your wallet. I know you prefer Gatorade to Powerade and I know that when you lie, you can’t look me in the eye.”

“Joe please-”

“I know you’re lying to me. Because you couldn’t look me in the eye. Because I heard you talking about me in the changerooms to Ben just now, and because when I just stepped close to you- _right then,_ your heart skipped a beat, and you looked at me how you used to look at me.”

 _Not that I ever really stopped._ Jos shakes his head determinedly. “So? That doesn’t prove anything. I looked at you? And what?”

“Jos. You looked at me like I’m the only thing that matters to you.”

“I-” The keeper chokes on his own words. 

“Why won’t you just admit it Jos?”

“Because I’m not supposed to love you-” he immediately claps a hand over his mouth.

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because you don’t love me!”

“And who the fuck ever said that?” Joe fists a hand into his shirt and pulls him forward. “Who? Because it wasn’t me, Jos. I’m tired, I’m tired of you pretending, and I’m tired of faking it. Tell me the truth, please, I just need to hear you say it.”

“I- Joe I can’t, you know I can’t, we both have- you’re going to be the captain, we can’t-”

“Jos. Please.” Joe’s hand remains tightly grasped in the keeper’s shirt, and Jos’ hands have somehow, found their way to Joe’s waist. _Back home._ “I can’t say it until you do. I need to hear you say it.”

“I do. You know that I do. I always have. But we couldn’t make it work, and I just- I moved- _you moved on,_ I can’t do that again, it’ll hurt me too much, and I never want to see that expression on your face ever again.”

“Which expression?”

“Disappointment. That look in your eyes when I’d been dropped. And then relief. When you finally had to go without me and realised you were better off.”

“Better off- Jos. You’re wrong. You know you are. Just say it. Please.”

“I do.”

“You do _what?”_ Joe presses, leaning in further, til they’re less than a millimetre away, still waiting, making sure that Jos is comfortable, that this is his choice too, even if he needed a light tug to make it.

“I _did_ love you.”

“I know you did. I loved you too. But we’re not talking about then. I'm asking now. Right now. Do you love me _now?”_

“I do. I do love you,” he admits. Joe could fall into the floor, but Jos has him held and he’ll be damned if he does anything to change that after craving it for as long as he can remember. “I suppose I never really stopped. I still hear your voice when James Arthur comes on. And I haven’t unlocked my balcony door in months. I can’t bring myself to, because I see the rain and it reminds me that you’re not lying on the couch with me, dragging me outside to stand in it, to kiss you under it. And my fucking bathroom still smells like you, _still after all this time,_ but I can’t bring myself to do anything about it because I _miss you.”_

“Jos, hey, _hey,”_ Joe holds the keeper’s face in his hands firmly, “I love you. I missed you. The real you. The one who used to wait for me at my apartment because you didn’t want me to come home to an empty house. How I’d find you fast asleep in my bed and how you looked so at home there. I miss you teasing me about any and everything you could just to make me laugh. I miss having coffee sachets in my house for you, and I fucking miss going out to look at the stars, because I can’t do it without thinking about you.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t-”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Joe smiles, still caressing Jos’ jaw with his thumbs. “I almost forgot how beautiful your eyes are. Especially when you look at me.”

“Like you’re the only thing that matters.”

Joe breathes a sigh of relief, wrapping his arms over Jos’ shoulders to hug him properly, eyes slipping shut in content as Jos’ arms cage around him protectively.

There’s a delicate hand carding back through his hair, and Joe remembers the touch like he hasn’t been starved of it for two whole years. “Don’ let go of me,” he says, muffled by Jos’ collarbone. He waits for a sarcastic retort, or for a regular Sarcastic Jos Remark, or a roll of the eyes and a squeeze. Instead, Jos tips his head back, with the most stunning smile Joe has ever fucking seen on his face.

“Baby... Joey, darling,” he pauses and then, “I’ll drive us home today. Come stay with me. Please? I don't want to let you go.”

It takes absolutely everything in Joe to not shove Jos against the nearest surface and kiss the daylights out of him. But if he even lets go of him for a second, Joe thinks he’s going to die. It’s so stupid because they haven’t even touched, haven’t even brushed hands, haven’t even _looked at each other for more than fifteen seconds_ in so long, but now that he’s in Jos’ arms, Joe refuses to put any space in between them.

“You know, it’s terrible to keep someone waiting,” Jos points out, nervous wobble only barely concealed.

“It really is,” Joe counters.

“I-" Jos scoffs, yielding with a disbelieving smile. "And what exactly are _you_ waiting for?”

Ah, there it is. Jos’ sass. God, he’s missed it. “You. I have been waiting for you. Since you left me at the airport that day. Since I got on that plane without you. So if you’d kindly get on with it, and kiss me, that’d be appreciated,” Joe grins, eyes sparkling with his usual cheekiness, and Jos wonders how he went without this for so long. “Anytime now would be great babe,” he adds.

“Oh shut up. I’m admiring.”

“Could you admire a little faster?”

Jos rolls his eyes, unable to keep himself from smiling as he tips Joe’s head aside gently, pressing the softest of kisses to the corner of the younger’s mouth. “No. Let me take my time,” he breathes, nudging his nose against the underside of Joe’s jaw. “M’gonna take you home, missed you so much-” he cuts himself off with a deep breath, inhaling deeply as he kisses down the side of Joe’s throat.

“Jos, if you don’t kiss me right now, so help me god-”

“No. Shh.” Jos is undeterred, tugging the collar of Joe’s training shirt aside to peck at his collarbone, brushing lips over it intimately, like he’s recommitting everything to memory. The keeper’s hands find their way to the bare skin of Joe’s hip, tracing circles over the flesh as he tucks his nose against Joe’s temple, kissing down the curve of the younger’s jaw.

Jos nudges their noses together, grinning at Joe as he scrunches his face adorably. “I really love you,” he confesses against Joe’s mouth, as he _finally_ tilts his head and kisses him, lips meeting in a gentle embrace, not rushed, not urgent, but as though everything has just fit into place. 

Like the timing is right, and like the universe said it should be this way. 

For once, Joe agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> If you scrolled down here just to try get some info, here you go.  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLEFbRRl1KhE-rjo0_rCOI8kd7QReFkv-A


End file.
